Dance with the Devil
by Ardalion
Summary: This all started with the Barbie doll line. The story seems to be evolving on its own. I am trying to stay within the cannon of the TV show. My feeling is Reddington is a good man who has done bad things for complex reasons hence the title. Reddington is really the one who is dancing with the devil.
1. Chapter 1

Dance with the Devil

Elizabeth Keen's blue eyes flashed. "I'm not a damn Barbie doll that you can dress up and play with."

"Lizzie, dear, where did you learn such language?"

She saw the faint smile on Raymond Reddington's lips and the mocking quizzical expression on his face. Her anger flared again. She needed a deep breath to control her irritation.

"We'll make a plan," he continued. "But one thing is certain. You're not going to be my escort, dressed like an escapee from the Good Will."

"I don't dress—"

"Oh, be honest with yourself, Lizzie. "You're bright and beautiful, but you have no fashion sense."

"What was wrong with the dress I wore last time?" she snapped.

"There's nothing sexy about FBI black. I need you to be a distraction." He watched her intently, a touch of contempt perhaps, and dry amusement in his expression, and something else – dangerous and intriguing – a challenge.

Her eyes shifted away and back. "You want eye candy."

"Now you're getting the picture."

Elizabeth thought about it, angry with herself and him, angry at being reminded of the differences in the way they dressed. Reddington was a cultured, sophisticated man, his clothes tailored, beautifully cut from fine cloth. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "What do _you_ suggest?"

"I know this upscale boutique…"

Elizabeth approached Reddington, spots of color on her molded cheekbones. He could see she was indignant about something. The red gown he had selected was perfect. He watched with pleasure as men and women took notice. Although the gown was high necked, it showed off her breasts and hips in a striking fashion almost as if she were naked.

"Some help you are," she complained. "That fat prick in the hall pinched my bottom."

Red grinned and waved a hand. "Look around you."

Elizabeth didn't bother. She knew she had turned heads on her way into the room, dressed the way she was. The dress fit like a second skin and she was not comfortable having her body displayed in this manner, but she had a part to play. She thrust a hip forward and her breasts lifted, pressing against the clinging fabric as her stance changed into a provocative pose.

"He's not the only one who wants you," Red said mildly.

The ambiguity of the statement hung between them. For a few seconds, the two studied each other.

Elizabeth chose to ignore the intuitive flash of understanding. Her head tilted slightly and the smile was too quick. "So now you're a pimp too?"

Red threw back his head and laughed with genuine delight.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm sure they would be delighted to entertain you when you took out your handcuffs, but I'm afraid your gun would definitely spoil the mood."

"You selfish bastard, you're enjoying this." She indicated the gown she was wearing. "I need a drink." She spun around, a flash of shapely leg showing through a side slit, and stalked off.

"Raymond, my dear friend." The voice was smooth as satin. "It seems your wit and charms have failed to impress the lady."

"Not to worry. I like a challenge," Reddington answered lightly. He turned to look at the man a few inches shorter than him. Petrovich was thin, with a long sharp nose, tousled brown hair and a wide mocking mouth. His small grey eyes watched Elizabeth walk away, the dress of red clinging material emphasizing her shapely body.

"You must introduce me," Petrovich said.

"Ah, Petro, surely you are here for business."

"I don't mind mixing business with that kind of pleasure." His glasses glittered lustfully as he stared after Elizabeth.

Reddington chuckled, but found himself irritated by the open interest of Petrovich. The dress was attracting masculine attention. It was difficult to not keep looking at her. Already at the bar requesting a drink, Elizabeth turned to speak to a man seeking her attention. She nodded and tilted her head, laughter on her lips at some witty remark. Reddington felt a stab of jealousy that a stranger had made her laugh. Something he had failed to do. He had known and easily handled dozens of women in his life. Yet Elizabeth left him with a feeling of vulnerability and he did not relish the feeling.

"Let's take care of business," Reddington said, to distract himself as two more men joined Elizabeth at the bar, pressing close within touching distance. "What's the offer?"

"Why so blunt?"

"I'm waiting."

"I am empowered to offer you one million and three-quarters."

"Don't treat me like a fool. The price is two million."

Petrovich's lips sputtered.

Reddington cut him off. "You intend to pocket the difference. Don't waste my time with your greed."

"Raymond, it's not like that at all. You know the consortium-"

"My heart is breaking. I'll see you on the tenth of next month with the shipment and you will have the two million transferred to my offshore account."

Petrovich scowled. "How did you know the offer would be two million?"

Reddington watched him without blinking those hooded eyes. "It's my business to know."

His voice had the depth and timber to send an involuntary chill down Petrovich's spine.

"You'll have your money on the tenth. If you'll excuse me, I have another meeting."

Reddington inclined his head without bothering to reply.

Petrovich slipped away, grateful to be away from the veiled eyes that briefly held a spark of malevolence. He knew he shouldn't have attempted to deliberately lie. The measured, controlled voice had made that abundantly clear. His next contact was much more pliable. Petrovich was confident he could negotiate a tidy profit and he smiled at the thought, putting the unpleasantness of dealing with Reddington behind.

Reddington headed toward the bar where Elizabeth stood within a tight circle of admiring men. Her laughter floated above their mirth. He composed his features so he arrived relaxed and urban and smiling.

"Ah, Lizzie, darling, here I am," he announced, and extended a hand. "Ready for that dance you promised."

The not so subtle drawing of boundaries caused the circle around her to open as the men realized their competition for her attention was at an end. A man with handsome sun browned features boldly handed her an engraved card.

"You would look lovely on a beach. Call me."

Reddington stepped forward as Elizabeth tucked the card in her bodice. He slipped his arm around her waist and swept her toward the dance floor, ignoring the envious gazes. He felt her back stiffen at his touch. "It seems as if you have made a conquest. What would Tom say?"

Elizabeth ignored his remark about Tom. "I don't want to dance with you."

"What better way to survey the room for my contact," Reddington replied smoothly. "We are here on FBI business." He swung her around into his arms as they reached the dance floor. "Besides, I don't want to dance with all the ugly women with too much makeup. Natural beauty like yours is more pleasing to the eye."

He smiled that irresistible smile of his. She had to be constantly on guard against his charm. There was that wicked air of danger about him that was so fascinating, the power of his presence. He was a man who dictated his own terms to life. And if she were truthful to herself, he had infected her with a fatal curiosity to know more about him and how he knew so much about her life.

Reddington was a skilled dancer and guided her expertly around the floor. His hand shifted and he pulled her a little closer.

Damn him, Elizabeth thought. She could smell the scent of his expensive cologne and feel the warmth of his body. The sensuous drooping of eyelids over the bold eyes was mesmerizing. Did he realize how his touch and gaze affected her? She looked away to scan the room. "What am I looking for?"

"I think we dance well together." Again that intimate husky tone, low and deep.

"In about twenty seconds, I'm going to be very mad."

Reddington studied her face and realized the truth in her words. "All right, I don't know what he looks like. I've never met the man. He's to contact me."

Elizabeth stopped abruptly. "That's it. I don't have time for these games. How many times do I have to spell it out for you."

"Life isn't so simple, Lizzie."

She pulled away from him, but he caught her arm at the edge of the dance floor, stopping her. "Hear me out, please."

"I'm listening."

"I do know the name of my contact."

"How does that help when we don't know what he looks like?"

"The card that man gave you, may I see it?"

Elizabeth frowned, but she pulled the card from her bodice and handed it to Reddington.

A slow smile spread across his face. He waved the ivory card in front of Lizzie. "The name of my contact is Logan Alexander."

She snatched the card from his hand and looked for herself. In bold black script was the name of Logan Alexander, as well as an embossed company logo, and a number.

"I think that went rather well, don't you?" Reddington said.


	2. Chapter 2

Reddington's body guard appeared in the corridor. He was very dark skinned and built like a boxer, solid yet light on his feet. He kept his head shaved. Elizabeth had tried several times to engage him in conversation when they were alone, but the man had remained taciturn, clearly loyal to Reddington.

"Clear," Dembe said. He stepped back into the suite and held the door as Elizabeth and Reddington walked past into the spacious, beautifully decorated living area. The sofa and easy chair were covered in cream leather contrasting with the soft blue carpet. The tables and cocktail bar were in black wood and chrome. Three Claude Monet art prints, his Boats in Argenteuil series, hung on the wall in ornate frames. Dembe went to the bar and began a ritual of preparing a drink for Reddington.

"Care for a nightcap?" Reddington asked.

"Nothing for me," Elizabeth said as she looked around the room. She wasn't used to such luxury. The places she and her husband Tom stayed at didn't come close, not even on their honeymoon. Where were their overnight bags, she wondered. She and Reddington had changed clothes on his private jet due to their late arrival and had taken a limousine to the hotel after clearing Customs. After checking in, they had gone straight to the ballroom, although she had stopped in the powder room to check her appearance and calm her nerves.

She walked into the next room and realized she was in a one bedroom suite. Her small bag was next to Reddington's expensive leather one. She looked at the king size bed and turned to Reddington as he came up behind her. "Where are you sleeping?" she asked.

"In the bed, which side do you want?"

"I'm married."

"The age of prudery is long past, Lizzie." He shook his head. "If we have unexpected visitors, the expectation is we are sleeping together. Dembe has the couch."

Her eyes widened. "Are you expecting trouble?"

"The last deal I brokered here went sideways. A few people weren't happy." Reddington sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled at his bow tie with one hand and sipped his drink with the other. "Which side do you want?" he repeated.

He watched her chin lift up as it always did when she was about to challenge him. "I won't tell Tom, if you don't." He smiled at the quick specks of anger his words so easily sparked in her eyes, but she surprised him.

"Fine, I'll take the left side."

Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom in one of Tom's favorite t-shirts.

Reddington was sitting up in bed reading and looked up from the book. He wore Derek Rose pajamas in baby blue, navy, and white stripes. His eyes slid slowly over her body. "You're wearing _that_ to bed?"

"It's comfortable."

She slipped into her side of the bed, stiff and self-conscious, and tried not to appear flustered. Even in her own ears, her words sounded defensive. Elizabeth did not consider herself a sensual woman. She was using her husband's t-shirt as a shield against the strong pull Reddington exerted on her. She had been aware of the pull from the beginning, perhaps because she had never known a man like him.

'One of Tom's?" Reddington asked. A crooked smile spread on his sensuous lips.

"What are you reading?" she asked to distract him.

His intense gaze shifted back to the book in his lap. He was reading it for the second time, savoring words from his favorite sections. He displayed the cover. "_Team of Rivals The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln_. I admire his ability to handle people and politics. The man had many nuances. His gift for turning rivals into allies was pure genius."

"Goodwin's focus on his relationships with those rivals made for a fascinating read," she agreed, thinking Reddington had that gift as well as he was using the FBI for his own ends. "Human dynamics are often more complex than meets the eye."

Reddington was surprised at her response. He hadn't expected her to be informed.

Not wanting to engage in a conversation about Lincoln, she said, "I'll leave you to the book. Good night." She turned so her back was to him.

The silence didn't last long.

"I want your word."

Elizabeth rolled back to face him, a slight frown marred her forehead. "My word on what?"

"That you won't stab me with a pen while I'm sleeping."

The absurdity of his words struck her. She couldn't help but laugh, and said, "This from a man who kills at the drop of a hat."

"I kill without hesitation, yes, but I take no pleasure in it," he said softly.

The laughter died on her lips.

His expression was suddenly sad.

Elizabeth felt an unaccountable flutter of sympathy, but she knew she could never forget what kind of man he was. A sudden shiver of fear hit her, but she did not turn away. They were very close in the intimate glow of lamplight from the night stand.

Reddington watched the shadow of emotions play across her face. "What did you feel when you shot Barnes?" he asked abruptly.

She stared at him, her eyes direct and searching, silent for a long moment. "I felt cold, but vitally aware. He didn't think I would shoot because I put down my gun the first time. I knew I couldn't let him use his experimental cure on his son. The possibility of that boy's death at his father's hand affected me more than the horror of all those who died in the subway and courtroom." She paused, as tears rimmed her eyes. "When the adrenalin rush passed, I wanted to vomit."

Reddington nodded. "You did what you had to do. If you had felt compassion for Barnes, it would have weakened your resolve to shoot." He had learned long ago to ruthlessly crush those feelings and any regrets.

Elizabeth blinked back the tears. "I still feel a sense of guilt. I took a man's life."

She couldn't give voice to the recurring dream that haunted her in the night. Barnes was on the floor trying to stem the flow of blood through his fingers. The three bullets had made a bloody mess of his chest. His grayish white face looked up at her. His mouth opened and he said something that Elizabeth could not understand. She leaned closer, wanting to hear his words. His brown eyes stared into hers. "Murderer."

She felt her mind recoil from the accusation. Her vision blurred and Barnes' features wavered and transformed until she found herself looking at her own face, blue eyes wide and horrified, and it was her mouth that was open – the word coming out in an anguished cry, "Murderer."

Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily.

"You're having dreams about it," Reddington said.

She could only nod.

"They come in the night when you are defenseless." He looked away, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had his own dreams. "Sleep does not bring oblivion," he said softly, almost to himself. After a moment, he turned back to her. "Give it time, Lizzie. I find living life to its fullest helps."

"Thank you."

He nodded silently.

"And Raymond," she said, using his given name for the first time, "No promises." She turned away, her back facing him as she settled under the covers.

She didn't see Reddington's bittersweet smile.

It was midafternoon when they left the hotel. Dembe drove the rental car to an older section of the city that was a maze of streets and alleys. Their meeting with Logan Alexander was set for four at a bar known to Reddington. He handed Elizabeth out of the car when they reached their destination.

"We're early. Let's take a stroll and enjoy the local color."

Dembe got out and motioned to one of several idle youth lounging against the wall of a nearby shop. When the teen came over, Dembe handed him money. "Watch the car."

"Nice neighborhood you picked," Elizabeth said, feeling her stomach flip.

Reddington grinned and took her arm in a comfortable proprietorial gesture. "Come, the people are friendly," he assured her.

They started walking. Dembe hung back a discrete distance, ever watchful for potential threats.

The street was busy with illegal vendors, who hawked their wares keeping the money rather than lining the government's pocket with their endless regulations and licensing restrictions. Housewives haggled and children played games. Music and laughter spilled from open doorways, as the occupants went about their daily lives. The buildings came in an assortment of sizes and color and spoke of individuality in the construction.

The street had a character of its own, Elizabeth decided as they walked past shady trees that lined the way. She smiled at two scruffy boys pushing each other to gain control of a beer can, their faces bright with laughter. Even in poverty, children found ways to have fun. She could easily picture herself with Tom, walking hand and hand, exploring the various shops. Life seemed to be rushing her forward in a direction she had never imagined. She wanted to stop and get her bearings.

Reddington's guiding touch was a constant distraction. It created an implied intimacy she found unsettling. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He wore casual slacks and a long sleeved white shirt open at the neck. His vest was unbuttoned and he looked completely relaxed, his hat tilted at a jaunty angle. How could this one man turn her life upside down? She had so many questions and very few answers. Damn him, she muttered.

"Did you say something?" Reddington asked. He looked attentively at her through rose colored glasses.

Had she spoken the words out loud? "No, I..."

"A word, sir, in private," Dembe spoke from behind them.

Reddington looked around casually. He released her arm, and said, "Don't wander far."

Elizabeth moved away from where Reddington and Dembe were talking in low tones. A display of colorful scarfs attracted her attention. She drifted over to the vendor's stall, looked leisurely at the selection and finally picked up a multicolored one, sliding it through her fingers, enjoying the silky feel.

"Lovely aren't they? You will not find such scarfs anywhere else," the vender said and named a price.

Reddington appeared at her side. "You are being cheated."

"It doesn't matter."

"Señor Reddington, I did not know the lady was with you. For a friend of Señor Reddington, I have a special price. You can have your pick."

Reddington selected one. "The blue matches your eyes." He tied it around her neck before she could protest. Then he leaned forward, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke softly in her ear. "We are being shadowed."

"How do you know?" She controlled her impulse to look around.

"Call it a well-honed instinct."

He reached into his pocket and paid the vendor, generous with the bills.

"Gracias, Señor Reddington, gracias."

Reddington took her arm and guided her down the cobbled street. "There are three men. Dembe spotted the third one. I've been a little distracted by that sun dress you're wearing." His gaze swept over her. The blue and white floral dress was knee length showing off her lovely legs, and the narrow straps and v-neckline offered a pleasing view of creamy bare shoulders and the tantalizing hollow between her breasts. The past twenty-four hours had heightened his awareness of her physical presence. The dark mannish pant suits she wore at work did nothing for her femininity.

"You wanted eye candy," she retorted.

"I like it," he said in a husky chuckle, then focused his attention on the developing situation. "I don't know what surprise our followers may have planned, but I'm sure it will be unpleasant."

"Can we get to car?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Could they be working for Logan Alexander?"

"He's a merchant banker. Not his style."

Elizabeth glanced behind them. "Where did Dembe go?"

Reddington ignored her question. "Let's do the unexpected." He stopped and turned around.

Elizabeth turned with him, her eyes searching through the scattered groups of people along the busy street. What was different? A tall man in dress slacks and leather shoes had joined the two boys she had noticed earlier, his back toward them as he kicked their can.

"The man kicking the can with those boys, is he one?"

"There is hope for you." Reddington nodded his approval.

They walked back toward the man. Within thirty yards, Reddington abruptly pulled Elizabeth into a narrow alleyway between buildings and increased his pace. When they reached the exit to the alley, he turned the right corner and stopped unexpectedly. He placed his back against the wall and put Elizabeth on his far side away from the alley.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to question his actions but Reddington shook his head to silence her.

"We wait," he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Reddington kept his hand on Elizabeth's arm. He couldn't be sure if she would stay next to the brick wall. The gaze of her blue eyes was level and appraising as she studied him. Her eyes were her best feature, he thought. They were the first thing that struck him about her, the clear startling blue, almost sapphire when she was annoyed with him, like now. She had questions and now was not the time to provide answers. His attention turned back to the alleyway at the soft scuff of leather on stone.

The tall man stepped out of the alley looking away from them. Reddington reached him in two strides. His hand gripped the man's arm. The man froze, his head snapping around, and he looked down at the gun pressed into his side.

"I thought I recognized you," Reddington said. "What do you want, Flores?"

"Did you think your presence here would go unnoticed?"

"If I wanted to be unnoticed, you would not see me."

The smug, self-satisfied smile on Reddington's face irritated Flores. "Mr. Sanchez wants to teach you a lesson."

Reddington nodded. "Understandable, but it was his own stupidity that lost him the artifact. He is not qualified to teach me anything."

"That is not the way Mr. Sanchez sees it."

"The truth hurts his pride. He wants to take out his anger on a scapegoat. It's much more fun to be on the winning side."

Flores glanced around and looked squarely at Elizabeth for the first time. There was no fear in her eyes as she watched him. His gaze flicked over her, a steady sweep from head to toe. "You have picked the wrong companion," he informed her

A small smile spread across her lovely pink lips, one of private amusement. "You seem to be the one in trouble."

Annoyance flared in Flores. Clearly she did not understand the situation.

"I know about your men," Reddington said, drawing Flores's attention back to him. "I don't believe they will be arriving any time soon."

"We'll see," Flores said, confident in his selection. Cesar was very skilled with the knife, and few escaped the crushing grip of Diego's massive arms. "Do you intend to shoot me?"

"Today's your lucky day. I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself." Reddington released his arm and pocketed the gun. Flores reached behind his back for the gun in his belt underneath the sea spray floral shirt he wore.

Reddington struck quickly, pressing two fingers under his ear. Flores stiffened, his limbs went rigid, and his body convulsed before dropping to the street where he lay twitching.

"What did you do to him?" Elizabeth asked.

"I didn't kill him, if that's your concern. He'll be after us in five minutes and we need to be elsewhere." Reddington took her arm and guided her away from Flores back towards the bar.

"How did you do that?"

"Weren't you taught about pressure points? I'll have Dembe show you."

Elizabeth thought about the fight she had had with Gina Zanetakos on a prior case. The woman had disarmed her, taken her down, choked her and had nearly knifed her. If Donald hadn't showed up when he did and put two bullets in Gina…. Elizabeth didn't want to think about what might have happened. She definitely needed better skills in defending herself with the amount of time she was spending in the field. She felt a sudden rush of gratitude. Here was a man who offered advice and direction and opportunity to understand the criminal mind in ways she never imagined. Why he chose to help her remained a mystery, one she was determined to solve. In any case, she appreciated what he offered.

"I'd like that," she said.

Dembe studied the face and eyes of the larger man. He had the look of one who had fought often, using his brute strength to crush weaker opponents, but his eyes were oddly blank. The shorter man didn't look the part. He was slim, almost womanish, with smooth features and hands. His clothing emphasized good taste which somehow lessened the impression of the man as a threat. Dembe knew better from past experience that surface appearances were often deceiving. It was the confidence in his dark intense eyes.

"Mr. Sanchez wants Reddington hurt. We have no interest in you. Get out of the way." The man's voice was high like a girl's, reinforcing the effeminate impression.

Dembe lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "You know I cannot do that." He continued to block their way, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

"Then I will have to cut you too." The man pulled a knife from his sleeve and smiled an ugly curve of thin lips, anticipating the pain to come. "Let's see how easy you bleed." His attention shifted slightly to the big muscled man at his side, who waited like a faithful dog, his attention on his master. "Diego, hold him."

It was the moment for which Dembe had been waiting. Before the man finished his last word, Dembe struck, gripping the knife-wrist, clamping down hard. He twisted and the knife clattered on cobble stone. The fingers of his other hand closed around the man's slender throat, digging into carotids, cutting off the blood flow to the brain and bringing immediate unconsciousness. The man dropped to the ground.

"You hurt, Cesar," Diego said, blind anger flaring in his eyes, and lunged forward.

Dembe dropped under the out stretched arms, turning, lifting his foot to kick into the man's unprotected groin. Diego staggered back, doubled over from the agony. Dembe kicked again, connecting with his exposed jaw. Diego sprawled backwards and hit his head with a sickening thud on stone. He lay in a heap without moving.

A few strides took Dembe to the alley entrance. After glancing around, he began walking back down the main street.

Dembe slowed the battered Cadillac as they passed through the gate between twin columns of white stucco. A red tiled roof showed through the trees ahead. Within moments the curve of the long driveway brought them into full view of the sprawling Spanish colonial style hacienda. A statuesque fountain sprayed water into a pool surrounded by colorful flowerbeds. The two story house was situated on the crest of the hills above the Old Quarter of the city where it would enjoy evening breezes from the sea.

Elizabeth was not expecting such splendor. But why not, she thought. Mr. Sanchez was a wealthy man, a dealer and collector of rare artifacts from throughout the Americas, many obtained by illegal means if she could believe what Reddington had told her. She frowned, thinking about their abrupt change in plans. The meeting with Logan Alexander had been rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon as a late lunch appointment. Reddington had insisted on meeting with Sanchez to smooth ruffled feathers, ignoring her protests. It meant another night away from Tom that she couldn't explain.

Dembe parked the car in front of the main entrance. A man came down the steps to meet Reddington as he stepped out of the car.

"Raymond." Sanchez's greeting was frosty with no welcoming smile, so different from their last meeting.

Sanchez was a robust man in his midforties with dark brown hair slicked back, every hair perfect, as was his neatly trimmed mustache. He wore navy slacks and a light blue polo shirt. Diamond earrings glinted in the sunlight.

"Ernesto, old friend," Reddington said. "I have a case of your favorite scotch in the trunk." He waved expansively toward the back of the Cadillac.

Sanchez scowled. "You think to bribe your way into my home?"

"Consider it a gesture of good will. We need to talk."

"My men failed," Sanchez said bluntly.

Reddington spread his hands. "What can I say? I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding. You know me. We can work this out to our mutual satisfaction."

"You want the freedom to come and go anywhere in the Old Quarter." Sanchez had shrewdly read his thoughts.

"You know my business takes me there."

"You need my continued friendship."

"And I am a good friend to have," Reddington countered, his voice low.

Sanchez studied Reddington thoughtfully for five seconds, and nodded. "Come inside and you can tell me how you are going to make me happy again." He looked around Reddington into the back seat of the Cadillac and lifted an eyebrow. "Who is this lovely young lady? Raymond, your taste is exquisite as always."

Elizabeth slid across the seat and let Reddington hand her out of the Cadillac. His arm went around her waist as he presented her.

"Elizabeth, may I present the man known as the Fox of the Old Quarter."

Sanchez chuckled. "I am not always so clever. He is the sly one." His eyes slid to Reddington, then back to Elizabeth. "Call me Ernesto." He pressed his lips to the back of her offered hand. "The pleasure is mine."

Inside the hacienda, Sanchez led them across a black and white checkered floor to his study and flung the double doors open.

"Make yourselves comfortable."

Reddington led Elizabeth to a studded leather couch and they sat, while Dembe took up a position behind them, relaxed but watchful.

Sanchez went to a bookcase and swung it open, displaying orderly rows of liquor bottles. "What are you drinking, my dear," he asked Elizabeth.

"Too early for me," she smiled her refusal.

Sanchez poured two measured drinks from a blue porcelain flagon that carried a crest into crystal glasses. He handed one to Reddington, then sat at his desk.

Elizabeth found herself a fascinated spectator as Sanchez and Reddington went through the ritual of swirling their drinks, then sniffing.

"Hints of cinnamon and honey," Reddington said.

"Whiskey is liquid sunshine," quoted Sanchez.

"George Bernard Shaw, I believe."

"His play _Pygmalion_ is a delight." Sanchez stared at Elizabeth and sipped his whisky. He wondered if Reddington had done his cobra dance on her and if she were completely mesmerized by him. He turned to Reddington. "You came uninvited to my house, Raymond. What do you propose?"

"You want the Mayan artifact you lost to Davidson."

Sanchez's expression changed as red flushed his features. "You're damn right I want it. I still haven't figured out how that bastard got his hands on it after it left my warehouse."

Reddington had a pretty good idea how he had done it, but he was not about to share the information. "I can call Davidson and arrange a meeting for an artifact I know he is interested in."

"You're offering him an artifact and not me?"

"The piece has one stabilized hairline crack and minor chips restored to nose and lips. It's not up to your standards."

"I should be the judge of that," Sanchez told him.

"Once the meeting is arranged, you will take my place. What you and Davidson discuss or don't discuss is not my business."

Sanchez considered the offer. His humiliation at Davidson's hand still rankled. A slow smile spread across his face. "I like it."

Elizabeth shot a quick glance at Reddington, utterly appalled at what she had just heard. He had coldly and effectively protected his business interests by handing Davidson's head on a platter to Sanchez. She repressed a shiver.

Sanchez raised his glass to Reddington. "Let's drink to our continuing friendship."

The two men sipped their drinks.

Sanchez got up and walked around his desk. "You must stay and have dinner, and allow me the pleasure of this young lady's company. In fact, I insist you spend the night at my hacienda; it is for your safety, Raymond. I will need to get the word out that you are back in my favor."

Reddington approached Elizabeth on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He leaned one arm on the railing and faced her. Below them in the diffused light of a hanging lantern, Sanchez strolled, smoking a cigar. "I told Sanchez you were my woman to keep you safe. He is watching us. I am going to kiss you. Don't be stiff as a board."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Stiff as a board?" she repeated.

He smiled that condescending smile she was beginning to hate. He was too self-assured, too disrespectful, putting his judgment above everyone around him. She wanted to slap that expression off his face, but with sure feminine instinct she realized there was another way. She turned her face up to him, a deceptive smile on her lips. She reached out to cup his face in her hands and pulled his head down to kiss him with a wet open mouth.

Reddington shivered from the shock, then recovered quickly, and grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, his hand slowly sliding up her back to her neck. She pressed her hips against him as her tongue slid into his mouth. The beat of his heart quickened with the pressure of her breasts on his chest. Then his tongue was thrusting deep her mouth, hot and soft. A tiny thrill of exhilaration shot through her until she realized her recklessness threatened all reason and restraint. The moment she felt his flesh swell and harden she broke away.

"Who's stiff now?"

She turned from him, her lips wet and glistening, and sucked in a ragged breath. The danger crackled like a static discharge, tingling along her spine. She walked away without looking back.

"Oh Lizzie, you're playing with fire," Reddington said softly, his voice husky, and followed her into the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Reddington walked to the dresser, opened a drawer and took out neatly folded pajamas.

"You've been his guest before," Elizabeth said as she watched him.

"Yes, several times." He tossed the pajamas on the king sized bed, then went to the closet and revealed a selection of satin and lace babydolls, halter slips and chiffon gowns in a variety of colors. He displayed a red lace babydoll. "This one is called Temptation."

Two scarlet blotches spread on her pale cheeks. She felt a moment of panic. The taste of his mouth lingered on her tongue. Her skin tingled with the memory of him. It took her several seconds to get her turbulent emotions under control. The temptation was real, but she would not act upon it. She reached for the folded pajamas and picked up the top. "We can share these."

Reddington closed the closet. "Your performance on the balcony was very convincing."

"There you go, trying to convince me to want what you want me to want. I hate the way you manipulate people by flattery and threats."

His eyes always so steady flinched. "Not always, Lizzie," he said softly.

"What do you call what you did with Sanchez? That was in your self-interest."

"My business requires freedom of movement in this city without looking over my shoulder every second. Sanchez needed a reason to keep me alive rather than maimed or dead. I gave him one."

"And telling Sanchez I was your woman so you could kiss me."

"That was for your protection. Sanchez is well known for his sexual appetites. His perversions would sicken you. Besides you kissed me," he pointed out.

"Because I was angry. You were controlling me. I wanted to slap that smug expression off your face and I couldn't, not in front of Sanchez. I resent the way you seem to control everything, even the FBI. You know things about my life I don't and you won't tell me the truth."

"When I try to tell you the truth, Lizzie, you don't believe me."

"Now we're back to Tom."

"No, it's about trust. I need you to trust me. I know what you think of me, that I'm a monster. You have no idea what is going on in the criminal world."

"But you do."

"I've spent the last two decades being a concierge of crime, so yes, I do know things you don't. There are many things I can never tell you because of the powerful forces out there in the world, powerful forces that would crush you if you knew too much, that would crush me if I stayed in one place long enough. Now things are changing because of the blacklist. I hope to bring down an adversary I've been tracking for a long time. And I need your help."

"Then stop mocking me, stop telling me lies."

Reddington stepped close, not quite touching. "That kiss wasn't a lie."

She shivered to the tone of his voice, as though he had touched her with a caress. Her eyes searched his intently. She placed a hand on his chest. "I know and it scares me."

He stood very still, holding himself in check. He wanted real intimacy. He sensed the core of her being was untouched and he wanted to be bathed in the fire he knew was there.

She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. His warm soft lips parted slightly as he returned her kiss, gentle and lingering. She pulled back at last, her hand dropping from his chest. "Marriage is about trust, too. Call me old fashioned, but I can't betray Tom."

He smiled wryly and felt envy for the trust Tom didn't deserve. He also knew he could wait. It would take time to build the kind of intimacy he wanted. These first touches from her were just the beginning. "I understand."

Elizabeth felt dizzy with relief. A genuine smile lit up her face. "I'd tell you you're a damn good kisser, but you already know that."

"I like those words coming from you."

"No more public performances," she countered.

"No promises," he said, and the warmth in his smile closed around her heart.

Elizabeth turned and walked into the bathroom, carrying the pajama top. The spacious bathroom was designed to convey a cool ocean like atmosphere with tiles in shades of blue, highlighting the soothing, relaxing impression of water. The lighting added to the effect. Plush, luxurious towels and bathrobes were available. She looked with longing at the tub and pictured herself soaking in a foam bath. A sigh escaped her lips, as she tossed the pajama top on a chair. A quick shower would have to do.

She took a moment to study herself in the mirror. Her eyes were huge. She felt swept along in a current of events beyond her control and the sensation left her uneasy. Few people could play the game the way Reddington did, she decided. The rules changed with the level of danger and threat. He had a natural instinct for fluid action regarding his survival in whatever situation he found himself. Did he ever feel the slide of fear in his belly the way she did?

She frowned at the lingering blush on her cheeks. Her lips were wet and glistening from his kiss. A delicious thrill of pleasure swept through her and her heartbeat quickened as she thought about him. Beside his image, Tom seemed to pale and fade. She shivered. Reddington was in her head and that was not a good sign. He was using her intelligence against her. Her desire to know about him and what he knew about her colored her thoughts. Was she allowing him to seduce her?

"You need a cold shower," she told herself, and began to strip.

Reddington sat on the edge of the bed and considered the danger Sanchez represented. He knew the man. His tentacles of power and wealth reached into every corner of the Old Quarter and beyond. His friends were always people with affluence and in positions that could influence others. He was a man used to having what he wanted, whenever he wanted it, and he had made plain his admiration of Lizzie throughout the evening.

A shadow crossed Reddington's face and the corner of his mouth twitched. In fairness, he had displayed Lizzie's considerable sexual appeal with dresses he personally selected for her. She was young, vibrant with life. Men would want to touch the warmth of her, drink in her laughter like an elixir of rejuvenation. He knew he felt strong and vital with her on his arm, strong when dancing with her late in the night with envious glances of younger men upon them. He had seen the sudden, sharp stab of envy on Sanchez's face before he concealed the dark emotion. It was possible Sanchez could change his mind about their arrangement. He pushed the troubling thought away.

Reddington stood up and walked over to the sitting area, settled in a comfortable chair, and picked up a copy of _The Maya_ (Eighth Edition) by Michael D. Cole from the table. He flipped to the last hundred pages of illustrations. The objects held little interest and blurred together as he turned the pages, and he found himself regretting his impulse to bring Lizzie along on this particular trip. His regret irritated him. He had traveled much of his life as a loner and it had never bothered him, until now. Now he had to put Lizzie's welfare before his own. He had a plan in place with the FBI and a means of achieving his goal through Agent Keen. Then why did something simple seem so complex?

"The bathroom is all yours."

He looked up from the book. She had rolled the sleeves of the blue white stripped pajama top up to her elbows. He allowed himself the pleasure of enjoying her fresh scrubbed beauty. Her sable hair was damp from the shower and her face held a childlike innocence with those guileless blue eyes under thick lashes. And those legs, he could imagine her kneeling astride him.

"You're staring."

He smiled. "That pajama top is a step up from a t-shirt. Did you save me some hot water?"

Her laughter startled him. It was sweet and melodious.

"Don't you mean cold?" She grinned at him as she said the words.

A ripple of dangerous excitement passed through him. Did she truly understand the power she had over him? He closed the book in his lap and placed it back on the table. He walked to the bed and picked up the pajama bottom. His eyes never left hers. The smile spread on his face.

"A cold shower," he said softly, as he started past her. "Isn't that what you took?"

He closed the bathroom door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning Sanchez had breakfast waiting for them out on the sunlit terrace. They joined him at the table, walking past two pedestals that displayed Mayan warriors on each side of the doorway, guarding the threshold into the hacienda. A side cart loaded with various dishes stood near the table.

"Elizabeth, my dear, you look ravishing." Sanchez examined her with obvious admiration.

She wore a red tube dress with a colorful Zinnia ivy pattern with flowing bottom, knee length. The elastic stretch top emphasized her breasts and left her shoulders bare. The selection came from the guest room closet.

"Your taste in clothing reflects your appreciation of women."

Sanchez beamed, his ego flattered as she intended. He was a handsome man except for the eyes, she thought. His eyes never smiled and reminded her too often of a reptile's unblinking stare.

Sanchez indicated a bowl of fresh cut fruit. "I recommend the papaya and mango."

Elizabeth ignored his recommendation. She selected chunks of pineapple and added several strawberries to the eggs scrambled with tomatoes, onions, and green peppers and cubed sautéed potatoes with onion and bacon already on her plate. She avoided the chorizo, a spicy Mexican sausage, and poured a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Sanchez picked up the phone next to his plate and handed it to Reddington who had chosen a three piece white linen suit to wear without the jacket. "This phone is secure. Make the call to Davidson."

Reddington made the phone call. "Lloyd, Raymond Reddington. I've got that Mayan piece you were looking for. It's been subjected to microscopic analysis and is unconditionally guaranteed to be of the culture and age we discussed. I'm in town today. When and where do you want to meet?" He quickly made the arrangements and handed the phone back to Sanchez. "Everything is set."

"Not quite. You're coming with me."

"That wasn't part of our deal. My presence is superfluous."

"You play the game my way or not at all."

Reddington held up both hands. "All right, Ernesto. I can understand your concern. Davidson is likely to react badly if he sees you first."

"My point exactly, I don't like surprises." Sanchez sipped his coffee and waved his hand toward the cart. "Enjoy breakfast."

Reddington filled his plate and ate with good appetite. The conversation shifted from the splendid weather to rooms Sanchez had remolded from Reddington's last visit.

"Where is Dembe?" Reddington finally asked.

"Your man is in the kitchen with Mayra, my cook. Seems she made an impression on him."

Reddington chuckled. "Not surprising with your taste in women. You surround yourself with beauty." He pushed away from the table and stood up. "I need to speak with him. It won't take but a minute and I know the way." He left quickly to forestall a protest from Sanchez.

Sanchez could hardly believe his fortune. Reddington had been very possessive of the young woman sitting next to him. He turned his full attention on Elizabeth. "I'm delighted to have you all to myself. I fear Raymond and I must have bored you last evening with our reminiscing of old times together and talk of artifacts."

"Not at all," she smiled at him. "I found it quite illuminating."

They chatted several minutes about his collection of rare artifacts.

"You know, I envy the old boy. Where did the two of you meet?"

"At the post office." Truth kept things simple. The fact that the post office she was referring to was a FBI black site was not up for discussion. His misinterpretation was natural.

His eyebrows shot up. "How quaint. Raymond is old fashioned in many ways. He mails letters instead of texting and using e-mail."

"He is a private man," she acknowledged.

He threw back his head and laughed. "You have the gift of understatement, my dear."

Elizabeth bit into a plump red strawberry. It was sweet and succulent. She licked her lips, savoring the juicy taste. Its ripe smell filled her nostrils. "Too bad these weren't dipped in chocolate."

"I'll have to remember that."

She smiled and wondered how long she would have to keep smiling.

Sanchez smiled back at her. His teeth were white and even. "You were made for life and love."

"And how would you know that?"

"By the way you eat."

She frowned, a puzzled expression on her face. She didn't like the direction the conversation was taking.

Sanchez noted her discomfort and smoothly changed the subject back to Reddington. "How long have you and Raymond been together?"

"Not long, a couple of months."

The questions were getting too personal. Elizabeth reached for her orange juice.

Sanchez caught her wrist and turned her palm up. He nodded toward the scar. "May I ask what happened?"

"An accident in childhood," she said, and did not elaborate.

"I imagine it was quite painful."

His thumb slowly stroked the raised scar tissue.

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. An icy shiver slid down her spine as he licked his lips and stared at her, his eyes roaming over her body. His grip continued to tighten until it was painful.

She winced and saw the flare of pleasure in his eyes that was instantly hidden.

"You enjoy hurting others."

"Is that what Raymond told you about me?"

Elizabeth glanced at the fork next to her plate. If he didn't release her in the next few seconds, she knew what she was going to do.

Behind them Reddington spoke, his voice low and chilling. They both turned their heads. He stood next to one of the Mayan statues as though he was admiring the artifact on the pedestal. "You know, Ernesto, some beautiful things should be looked at and not touched."

Sanchez released her hand.

Elizabeth dropped her hands in her lap and rubbed her wrist. Reddington's mouth tightened.

Sanchez forced a smile. "You know I cannot be left alone with a beautiful woman," he said lightly.

"True," Reddington said, joining them at the table. His hand rested on Sanchez's shoulder. "You almost died in Monterrey last year because of a woman." He leaned down close to Sanchez's ear and spoke softly, "Don't make the same mistake."

Sanchez was silent, reflecting on the threat.

Reddington slapped his shoulder and sat down. He slipped an arm around Elizabeth's shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth.

"Sweetheart, you taste of strawberries." He gazed a moment into her eyes, his face inches from her, his smile warm and devilish at the same time.

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. It took physical effort to breathe. His long eyelashes were aching beautiful, she thought distractedly.

Reddington leaned back and instantly relaxed his posture. He gave Sanchez a trusting smile. "Let us move on. We should arrive early before Davidson and check out the facilities. You know the area and how many men will be needed." He spoke easily and Sanchez settled back in his chair and returned his smile.

Elizabeth watched Reddington work his charm on Sanchez. It gave her a solid sense of comfort that his magic seemed to distract Sanchez from her. She doubted Sanchez could be trusted for long in any circumstance. The man was a dangerous predator. They needed to leave the hacienda, and soon.


	6. Chapter 6

It was almost ten o'clock before Sanchez was satisfied with the arrangements he had made. He finished a conversation on his cell phone and turned to Reddington who stood near the couch. "My men will meet us two blocks from the entrance of the industrial complex."

Reddington nodded, and asked, "How many?"

"Five," Sanchez replied. "All of them ex-military. I do not want complications." And before Reddington could speak again he told him, "Elizabeth will accompany us."

Reddington looked at him sharply. "I don't want her put at risk."

"You're slippery as an eel, my friend. Her presence will keep you honest."

"Nothing like a little insurance."

Sanchez chuckled. "We understand each other very well."

Reddington pressed his lips into a thin smile.

Sanchez gestured toward the double doors of the study. "Let's go."

Dembe and Elizabeth were waiting on the terrace, seated at the table.

"A change of plans, it seems we're all going," Reddington informed them.

A significant look passed between Reddington and Dembe. Sanchez stood behind Reddington, a faint, pleased smile on his face. The subtle play of dominance between the two men had gone in his favor, Elizabeth thought, for now.

They walked out to the black Cadillac and Reddington opened the door for Elizabeth. She slid into the backseat. Dembe slipped in behind the wheel and started the car as Sanchez settled into the front passenger's seat. Reddington went around to the driver's side and climbed in beside her. He placed his hand over hers on the seat and gave a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry about this."

She turned her head, a wry smile on her face. "It could be worse." She watched his expression carefully. After the brief smile he gave her, what she saw sent an uneasy prickle down the back of her neck. Cold calculation glittered in his green eyes as he looked toward Sanchez, although the rest of his body language appeared relaxed and at ease. Even as she watched a veil fell over those intense eyes and his expression became bland and unconcerned. The transformation chilled her. She withdrew her hand from his, placing it in her lap, and turned away to look out the window. Sanchez was in danger and she wondered if he knew it.

Dembe drove the Cadillac down the long driveway, slowed at the gate and then swung out into the main street. It took just under forty minutes to reach the warehouse district.

"Pull up behind that white delivery van," Sanchez directed.

Dembe swung the Cadillac to the curb and stopped.

"Wait here." Sanchez got out of the car, walked between the vehicles and tapped on the driver's window. The window slid down and words were exchanged.

"You're just going to sit here and let Sanchez have his way," Elizabeth said.

Reddington turned to her, eyebrows raised. "What do you suggest we do, drive away?"

"That would be a start."

"Sanchez would make a few phone calls and we would never reach the airport. Trust me. I'm counting on Davidson to take care of this."

"He doesn't even know Sanchez is with you."

Reddington smiled and changed the subject. "What are you planning to tell Tom about your weekend trip?"

"None of your damn business," she burst out, shaking her head at him. She checked the other words that sprang to mind when she saw his amused expression. When he looked at her like that, she felt like a child. The feeling infuriated her. She clenched her jaws tight. She had to stop reacting every time he brought up the subject of Tom. He knew exactly what button to push to distract her.

Sanchez opened the car door and slid into the front seat. He held an automatic weapon which he placed on his lap, muzzle toward Dembe. "My men will follow behind and park in the alleyway between buildings. There's a loading dock in the back. Your man will drive to the front entrance as expected."

"Your show," Reddington said agreeably.

Within minutes they drove through the entrance to the industrial park and reached the warehouse on the end. The narrow alleyway separated it from the main industrial complex. The white van turned off behind them and Dembe drove the Cadillac toward the open roller door. A small plain sign Davidson Imports named the building. Dembe eased into the warehouse entrance and braked to a stop, switching the engine off.

To the right was a showroom with display cases of various sizes. To the left the floor was neatly organized into rows and towering walls with crates of trade inventory. At the opposite end of the warehouse was another open roller door where four men loaded a truck using a forklift.

"I'll give you a few minutes for the usual pleasantries," Sanchez said. "Then bring him out to the car."

Dembe slipped out of the driver's seat to open the back door for Reddington. He got out of the car. Before Sanchez could react, Elizabeth scooted across the leather seat and joined Reddington. "I'm coming."

Sanchez snapped, "Your man stays here." His weapon pointed straight at Dembe, but his eyes were on Reddington. "Go and put on your little show for Davidson. She will be a nice distraction."

Reddington smiled coldly. He took Elizabeth's arm and guided her toward the glass door that opened into the showroom. Inside, he spotted stairs going up to a door and window at a higher level. The view from there would give a clear view of the showroom. Davidson's office had to be there. He was right. Within seconds, the door opened and a tall, thin man emerged. It didn't take long for him to reach them.

"Raymond, good to see you," Davidson said, and extended his hand. After he greeted Reddington, he looked at Elizabeth, his gaze direct and pleasant. "She's new."

"Meet my associate, Elizabeth Keen. She's an import consultant."

Davidson nodded his acknowledgement just as his cell phone rang. He took the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller ID. "I've got to take this call. Excuse me." He turned from them and walked away for privacy.

Elizabeth scowled and said in a low voice, "Stop making me a consultant on things I know nothing about."

The corner of Reddington's mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "You need to expand your reading list."

He was completely unconcerned about the position he had put her in. Her eyes flared briefly. There had to be a reason behind that natural grin. The challenge in his eyes mocked her. She smiled back at him. "Just give me the titles."

His eyes widened ever so slightly. That was not the answer he had expected.

Davidson came back over to them, slipping his cell phone into his pocket.

"Your business prospers I see." Reddington glanced around at the displays.

Davidson nodded. "I provide complete import/export consultation and brokerage services including purchase contracts¸ shipping, warehousing, and delivery. That's the legitimate side.

Then there are the special deals as you well know. The phone call just now was about $500,000 in emeralds that could use discrete transportation. Is your jet available?"

"You're not using a diplomatic bag?"

"The diplomat who carries for me has recently run up large gambling debts. His reliability is questionable."

"I understand your concern. I can act as courier for my usual fee."

"Agreed," Davidson said, and shook Reddington's hand.

How could Reddington be so damn calm and conduct business when Sanchez was about to disrupt everything? Elizabeth wondered. What had she missed? Davidson supplied the answer.

"I appreciate the warning phone call from your man Dembe."

Reddington nodded and asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing, I'm letting the police handle Sanchez." He glanced through the showroom window toward the Cadillac. "And here they are." Two police vehicles pulled into the warehouse, blocking any retreat of the Cadillac. Eight men with assault weapons exited the vehicles.

One of the men ordered in a booming voice, "Step out of the car and put your hands on your head."

Sanchez considered the alternative and quickly discarded the idea of fighting back. His body would be riddled with bullets before he could get his weapon in play. He obeyed and slid out of the car to stand with his hands on his head.

Reddington, he thought. Reddington had set this up, but how?

It should not be such a surprise. The police were not a real concern. Corruption at the higher levels assured his release with a few substantial bribes. He knew Reddington. The man had always been self-serving. What had changed? A light glimmered in his eyes. It was the woman. He had put his hands on Reddington's woman. Still he never expected such duplicity.

Handcuffs were placed on his wrists as his arms were forced behind his back.

Suddenly more members of the police swarmed into the warehouse from the loading dock in the back. Apparently his men had been taken without a shot fired. Davidson had to have been the one to call the police. He felt a surge of bitter hatred for the man at this second humiliation. He would pay Davidson back when the right opportunity presented itself.

Davidson came out of the showroom with Reddington and Elizabeth. He approached Sanchez.

"Your vanity will always be your downfall, Ernesto."

"That bastard Reddington is responsible for this," Sanchez said. "Can't you see it?"

"You were the one who came to my warehouse with men and weapons."

"Because he set me up," Sanchez thrust his chin toward Reddington. "You're the bigger fool. You let Reddington play his fancy games."

"It's done, Ernesto." Davidson nodded to the man holding Sanchez's arm. "Get him out of here."

Sanchez jerked away and glared coldly at Reddington before his eyes slid to Elizabeth. The tip of his tongue flicked lewdly out of his mouth and he spoke.

"Good bye, sweetheart," he said with emphasis on the last word. "I hope to see you again."

Two policemen grabbed his arms and pulled him away.

Davidson turned to Reddington. "Well, that's that. Shall we make those transportation arrangements?"

The two custom officials were all polite smiles and courtesy as they left the plane after a cursory inspection. Dembe secured the hatch. In the passenger's cabin, Elizabeth buckled her seatbelt. She sat facing Reddington, a small table between them.

"You bribed those custom officials."

Reddington looked at her with pained patience. "I prefer voluntary contributions willingly accepted."

"You do that too well."

"A business necessity."

"Against the law, just like those emeralds you are carrying."

"You could have spoken up."

"I just want to go home." She stifled a yawn. They had a three hour flight ahead of them. "Cooper won't be happy to hear we couldn't connect with your contact."

"Not to worry," Reddington said smoothly. "While you were in the restroom, I made a phone call. Logan Alexander will be in New York in two weeks. I've arranged a meeting." He expected her to be pleased.

"You don't need me."

"Perhaps not, but are you going to refuse the chance to eat at Masa? It's a Japanese restaurant in the Time Warner Center, very elegant and private with seating for twenty-six." Reddington kissed his fingers. "It's quite the two hour experience, no menu, and dress suits you, casual and comfortable."

She looked at him, a slight smile on her face. He could be so persuasive.

"I want you to come with me, Lizzie."

His voice wrapped her in seductive warmth and those green eyes of his, melting her resistance. "I'll think about it."

As soon as they were airborne, Elizabeth reclined the seat and let her body completely relax from the tension of the past two days. She felt safe in the air away from Sanchez. The man had unnerved her with his creepy eyes and taking pleasure in her pain. Relief swept through her and admiration for Reddington. He had handled Sanchez without bloodshed on his part. That mattered to her more than she cared to admit. She thought about his kiss on the balcony. No not his kiss, their kiss, and she knew she wanted his mouth on hers again. It would be so easy to be washed away in a flood of sensual pleasure with him. What was she thinking? Damn, she was tired. Her eyelids drooped and closed as Reddington got up.

Reddington returned with two 8-ounce glasses with crushed ice in his hands. He saw her closed eyes and slow breathing. Her right arm slipped off the armrest as he watched and her head rolled to the side. He set the cherry cola cocktails on the table and bent down next to her. Gently he lifted her trailing arm and turned her hand up to examine the scar on her palm and wrist. The red denseness of it marred the smooth beauty of her skin. It angered him and he wanted to protect her from ever being hurt like that again. His lips tenderly touched her scared palm, and her eyelids quivered at his touch but remained closed. He placed her hand in her lap.

For long seconds he permitted himself the pleasure of admiring her up close. Long thick eyelashes rested against smooth cheeks. Soft red lips, slightly parted, reminded him of the sweet strawberry taste of their breakfast kiss. Her dark hair hung down on her forehead, and without thinking, he brushed it back in a protective gesture. That light familiar touch stirred recognition in her slumber. A breathy sigh escaped her lips. "Tom."

Reddington recoiled from the name of her husband on her lips. Jealousy stabbed him. He rose and went to his seat. He settled down facing her and reached for his drink. The fruity concoction rolled over his tongue. He stared at her and knew what he wanted – his name on her lips.

This story occurs right before the Anslo Garrick episodes.


End file.
